


Sick Day

by scaredyghost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17901044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaredyghost/pseuds/scaredyghost
Summary: Strike Commander Jack Morrison catches the flu. Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes takes care of him. Feelings are had. It's exactly what it sounds like.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first part heavily features Angela Ziegler but likely won't in the future so I didn't include her in the tags. Stick around for part 2!

The silence in the exam room as Dr. Angela Ziegler analyzed the data she'd gathered was likely no longer than one minute. It was hard to tell since the room lacked a clock and Jack, foolishly, had left his cell in his jacket pocket, which was hanging on the door, and God only knows what happened to his watch. The damn thing went missing nearly a week ago. Jack was beside himself. He never lost anything. It was giving him gray hair.

Thinking about it now gave him a headache. Granted, he already had a headache--well, no, it was more of an everything-ache, really. Like he'd been hit by a humvee. What hurt the most were his chest and throat, both raw from a haggard cough he couldn't seem to shake. If the missing watch was frustrating, this cough was positively maddening. He'd quit smoking months ago; wasn't the coughing supposed to get  _ better?  _

He closed his eyes and willed the room to darkness. The late 21st century and nobody could seem to figure out exam room lights that didn't stab at the retinas. He needed to get someone on that. He needed a grant. He needed an intern to write a grant.

"Well, it's as I suspected." Dr. Ziegler interrupted. She tutted and shook her head, turning to face Jack again. "You have the flu."

Jack balked. "No, I don't." He argued.

"I'm afraid you do." She countered, spinning the holographic projection of Jack's test results for him to see. "I took a blood sample and everything. Remember? It was about two minutes ago."

"But I don't get sick."

"You may be a super soldier but a better immune system is still not a perfect one." Ziegler glanced back at his chart. "I see you didn't get your flu shot this year."

Jack's shoulders sank a bit. "I never got around to it. I've been busy. You know. Running an international peacekeeping and research organization."

The young doctor looked unmoved. Jack sank lower, sagging on the chilly exam table.

"It slipped my mind."

"Ahh, of course. Understandable" Ziegler said patiently. "If only you'd gotten some kind of reminder... a biweekly memo, perhaps."

"Would that be every two weeks or twice a week?"

"Jack. You have the flu."

"I outrank you, you know."

"Of course, forgive me.  _ Commander Morrison. You have the flu. _ You are  _ sick. _ You are  _ contagious." _ She closed Jack's chart on her tablet and began to clean up. "I'm prescribing time off, rest, and fluids. Go home. Doctor's orders." 

"We pay you for this?"

"Quite well, in fact." The doctor countered, not looking up from the blood sample as she disposed of it. "Being angry at me doesn't make you any less sick and you know it. Don't be such a baby. Your immune system is remarkable; you'll probably bounce back in a few days."

The final blow was fatal. Jack folded in on himself and sighed. She was right. But he couldn't remember the last time he caught as much as a cold. Even before the Soldier Enhancement Program, Jack rarely got sick. He had no allergies. The SEP drugs enhanced qualities that were already strong in their recipients; Jack's favorable immune health made him practically invulnerable to disease. Catching the flu while well in his prime felt like a betrayal of the body he'd known and trusted for over thirty years.

It was completely unfair. It was downright inhumane. He swore to himself he'd never miss a flu shot for the rest of his damn life before he could even get his jacket back on.

"I'm calling Ana and Gabriel to make sure you leave." Dr. Ziegler warned without looking up from her soapy hands. 

Jack paused in the doorway and stared at her, frowning in thought. 

"That's gotta be a confidentiality violation." He accused. It was supposed to be an accusation, at least; it came out more like a whining hail Mary, which the doctor caught with a sadistic smirk. 

"Oh, I'm not telling them you're sick." She sang, "Just that you stopped by and that you're heading back to your office." 

She shrugged playfully as she dried her hands. "I'm sure one of them will need you for something. One look at you and they’ll put two and two together."

Grinning at Jack's crestfallen expression, she waved him out the door. "Now go. And you better go home and rest, too, or I'll also call Reinhardt."

"You do that and I'll actually fire you."

Angela laughed as she walked the Commander to her office's exit, shaking her head as she watched him stomp off in slouching defeat. 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe finds Jack, who's not looking so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's mention of vomit so mind your step if you're squeamish or emetophobic!

Gabriel jogged down the hallway to Jack's office, a silly grin plastered on his face that made passersby chuckle. They knew where he was heading. They likely had assumptions about why. The "friendship" between the two men was no secret to anyone who knew them. In fact, the only two who couldn’t seem to figure out the extent of their relationship were Jack and Gabe themselves. Jack had angrily called off a years-long ongoing office pool about who would ask whom out first when he discovered it the previous week. The timing had been terrible; he and Vincent had broken up--a mutually agreed upon but no less heartbreaking decision for the pair--mere days before.

Gabe, on the other hand, had known about the pool for months. He wanted to toss fifty bucks in himself but was shot down due to the conflict of interest. Bureaucratic assholes.

Either way, it had nothing to do with his mission today. Angela's call had come at the perfect time. The Strike Commander was a very busy man; between UN hearings, diplomatic conferences, and what Jack always delicately referred to as  _ Situations _ (though his careful censorship could never disguise the dark and worried look in his eyes whenever a Situation came up), his schedule often had 30 hours of work crammed into each 24-hour day. Gabe hadn't seen him outside of a meeting in weeks. He barely had time to offer his condolences over the split with Vincent. 

Jack had been quiet about his breakup. He'd told Gabriel and Ana and no one else, though people found out. They always did; Jack's personal life had been under the microscope since his promotion to Strike Commander. Gossip magazines seemed to know things about him before even Gabe did. 

It had been a real pity to see the end of Jack and Vincent. 

But at least now he could not only give his companion some much-needed support, but he could also offer Jack a second solace; Gabe had found his missing watch on a bathroom sink last week and was bursting with eagerness to give it back. 

It wouldn’t fix Jack’s broken heart. But it was something. He was probably going crazy without the damn thing; it was a gift from the Swiss to celebrate the opening of the Overwatch headquarters in Zurich.

The Strike Commander was approaching his office from the other end of the hall when Gabriel reached the door. He flushed with joy at finally having five minutes alone with his friend but paused to study the man when something struck him as odd. His gait seemed uneven. He walked slowly, using the wall to steady himself. He looked like hell. Was he hurt?

He stopped walking to watch his friend struggle, his head tilted to one side, struggling to compute the vision before him. Jack suffered the odd migraine but Gabe couldn't recall Jack ever catching so much as a cold in the decades they'd known each other. The very idea was the furthest thing from his mind. 

So, when his friend stopped, doubled over with his hand on his mouth, and retched violently into his palm and on the floor, panic struck Gabe like a lightning bolt. 

“Jack?!” He cried, sprinting to Jack just in time to catch him as his legs buckled lifelessly from under him.  _ “Jack!” _


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe talks Jack into coming home with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Another part! Thanks for your patience. :D It's hard to write for fun during the week. Hopefully Part 4 will go up sometime this weekend.

_ “Ugh…” _

It took a moment for Jack’s eyelids to finally peel apart from one another. He knew right away he was lying down, but it definitely felt more comfortable than a floor. In fact, if he didn’t know any better…

Blinking slowly, the strike commander lifted his head and looked around. Sure enough, he’d somehow made it to the couch in his office. Had he walked here himself?

“So, the flu, huh?”

Jack’s eyes followed the familiar sound of Gabriel’s voice until he located the man sitting at his desk, idly playing a game on Jack’s holoprojector. A fine use of government funding, Jack thought with a snort.

“I’m gonna fire Dr. Ziegler.” He muttered softly, beginning to sit up.

“Woah there, cowboy.” Gabe said as he got to his feet. “Lay back down. Angie didn’t tell me. She didn’t have to; I kinda figured it out when you yarfed all over the hallway.”

_ “Ughh.” _

“Don’t worry, it’s taken care of.” Gabe assured his friend as he scooted Jack’s office chair to the couch to join him. “You managed not to get any on your clothes too, you lucky bastard.”

_ “Language.” _ Jack grunted, closing his eyes again. “How long was I out?”

“About twenty minutes.” Gabe said with a shrug. “You passed out for a second in the hallway but came to enough for me to get you in here. Once you were on the couch though…” Gabe snapped his fingers. “Out like a light.”

“Jesus wept.” Jack hissed, rubbing his eyes.

“Angie did stop by.” Gabe continued nonchalantly, leaning dangerously back in his seat. “I called her. I’ve never seen you sick before. I’ve never even seen you puke before. I thought you were  _ dying.” _

“I’m pretty sure I  _ am  _ dying.”

“Nice try, Boy Scout. You’re not getting out of this job  _ that  _ easy.”

Jack snorted, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“I’m supposed to be home resting.” He explained hoarsely. “I just stopped by to get some things.”

Gabe hesitated. He studied Jack’s flushed face for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck in thought.

“Why don’t you come to my place?” He offered. “I was on my way out the door anyway. I’m taking a long weekend.”

“What, you wanna waste your long weekend playing nurse?” Jack asked with a teasing chuckle as he sat up and carefully heaved himself up off the couch. “Hard pass. Not for nothing but I wouldn’t trust you to take care of a goldfish.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “God, you let  _ one  _ class pet die.” He grumbled. “I’m serious. Crash on my couch for a few days. It’ll probably be easier than being home anyway. Vincent’s still living there, right?”

Jack wobbled for a moment before crossing the room to his closet. He fell strangely silent as he rifled through jackets and junk to dig an old luggage case out of the back.

Gabe swiveled the chair around.

“Jack?”

“I gave Vince the apartment,” Jack mumbled.

“What?!” Gabe cried, leaping to his feet. “When?!”

“The day we split.” He continued. “I made him move all the way out here, Gabe. I made him give up everything. It didn’t feel right to kick him out. I told him I’d keep paying the rent while he got his affairs in order to move back to the States. The lease is up in a few months, anyway.”

Gabe watched his friend wheel his luggage to the desk to start stuffing it with reports. 

“Then where have  _ you  _ been staying?”

Jack met Gabe’s gaze, then gestured to the office.

“You’re looking at it.  _ Chateau de Morrison.” _

Gabe recoiled. “You’ve been living in your  _ office?  _ You guys broke up like a month ago!”

“I spend all my time here anyway.” Jack snapped, a touch defensively. “And I just…” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t wanna deal with the paparazzi. It’s not a good look when the Overwatch Strike Commander has to move out of his own apartment.”

“I’m just trying to make this painless.” He finished, giving Gabe a pleading look. “As painless as I can for both of us.”

Gabe stared hard at Jack. “And how’s  _ that  _ been working out for you, Boss Man?”

The two fell silent. Gabe huffed in annoyance and got to his feet.

“Fine. I’m giving you two options.” He warned, holding up two fingers. “You can either come home with me and stay until you get your own place--”

“Not a chance.”

“--OR I can invite Reinhardt our for a beer and  _ confide in him  _ that I’ve been  _ worried about you  _ since you broke up with Vincent.”

He leaned his body against Jack’s, clutching invisible pearls, resting the back of his hand against his forehead.

“I just don’t know what to  _ do,  _ Rein! He’s so  _ withdrawn!  _ I’m worried he might be  _ lonely!” _

Jack halfheartedly smacked Gabriel away from him as he finished stuffing his luggage with reports and spare pants. He scowled at his friend but softened and sighed loudly.

_ “Fine.”  _ He muttered. “But I’m only staying until I feel better. I’ll… get a hotel or something after.”

Gabe smirked knowingly. He grabbed Jack’s luggage and began to lead his friend out the door. “Sure, Jack.”

Jack shook his head, a fond smile cracking the annoyed veneer of his handsome face. “You know that’s the second time someone’s threatened to tell Reinhardt on me today?”

Gabe chuckled. “Angela?”

“Angela.”

“We know he exhausts you.”

“That man could exhaust a room full of kittens on Adderall.”

Gabe’s uproarious laughter could be heard throughout the whole wing of the base as the pair shuffled down the hall toward the exit. 


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Gabe arrive at Gabriel's place. Gabriel finds a dead moth in his cupboards. Jack falls asleep on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update at last!!! My sincerest apologies for the delay. Wouldn't you believe it: I got sick! Perhaps my just desserts for making Jack so miserable.
> 
> Hopefully, I won't make you wait as long for part 5. In the meantime, please enjoy and thanks for reading!

The apartment Gabriel Reyes called home was located high in a skyrise in the center of Zurich, an enjoyable walk from the Overwatch headquarters on most days. But Jack was in no condition to walk and that, doubled with the imminent threat of rain, compelled Gabe to call a shuttle. Jack had sheepishly offered to pay the fare. Gabe conceded, but not without a dramatic rolling of the eyes.

Inside was impressive, far more than Jack and Vincent's modest flat outside town, with two bedrooms and a beautiful view of the Swiss town from floor to ceiling windows in the living room. Though furniture was scarce and simple, the living room boasted an impressive entertainment system that loomed over an overstuffed charcoal couch, whose low rectangular back faced the door.

Gabe tossed his keys in a nearby bowl as he waltzed inside, practically hauling Jack in behind him. His dear friend was looking worse by the minute, flushed from exertion by the short walk from the elevator to the door, and coughing fitfully into the sleeve of his jacket, damp from the outside mist. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath and Gabe helped to steady him, waiting patiently for Jack’s lungs to settle and his vision to stop swirling.

“Come on.” He urged gently, “Couch is just a few more steps. Kick your shoes off. I’ll dig out some blankets.”

Jack acquiesced with a silent nod, allowing himself to be led to the couch and dropping heavily upon it. He buried his aching eyes in his hands and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, massaging his throbbing temples with his thumbs. He felt stiflingly hot all over but shivered against the chilly air, and the chattering of his teeth echoed softly in the big, empty space.

“Jesus, you really look like shit,” Gabe commented casually as he returned from the linen closet, arms full of spare blankets and pillows. “Did Angie prescribe you anything?”

“Rest and fluids,” Jack grunted back without moving. He squawked when Gabe unceremoniously dumped the bed linens on him.

“Well, you take care of the rest part, I’ll get the fluids,” Gabe assured him. Without waiting for a response, he headed for the kitchen to dig through his cupboards.

Too tired to argue, Jack complied, tossing the pillows at one end of the sofa and unfurling the tangled blankets. Lying gently on his side, he curled himself beneath the warm linens and closed his eyes, sighing softly. To his pleasant surprise, the blankets smelled clean. Gabe knew how to work a laundry unit after all. Maybe someday he could work up to steaming his own damn shirts instead of always asking Jack to do it.

“What’s that crazy Old Country thing your grandma made me that one time I caught pneumonia at your family reunion?” Gabe called from the kitchen as he extracted a box of tea from his woefully bare cupboards. He opened the box and peered curiously inside, grimacing when greeted by the sight of one half-eaten tea bag and a dead moth. He tossed the box in the garbage and brushed his hand on his shirt. “I think it had whiskey in it? It was fucking magical, whatever it was.”

Jack smiled groggily. “Hot toddy.” He murmured. “She always used to say if you can’t cure it with butter or whiskey, it can’t be cured.”

“Spoken like a true Irish grandma.” Gabe chuckled. “I’m inclined to agree, though; that drink put me on my ass for ten hours. What’s in it? I’ll make you one.”

Jack racked his brain, the swirling and amorphous thoughts making him dizzy. He closed his eyes tighter.

“Hot water…” He recited. “Lemon, cloves, honey, and a shot of whiskey.”

Gabe investigated the contents of his fridge and cupboards as Jack listed the things he’d need. He dug out an old electric kettle and filled it and managed to produce a bottle of whiskey with ease, but had no luck with the rest of the necessary components. 

“Uh… might have to order some things.” He muttered. “Or I guess I could just run up the street.”

“Don’t go out of your way, Gabe.” Jack pleaded, lifting his head. “You’ve done enough. I’d probably just puke it back up anyway. I’m fine, seriously.”

As if to make Gabe’s argument for him, Jack began to cough again, hard enough to warrant sitting up lest he fall off the couch. Gabe hastily poured a glass of water and hurried to him, hovering nearby with a look of concern before smoothing his hand against the center of his friend’s shoulder blades and rubbing softly until the coughing finally stopped.

“I’m  _ definitely  _ going to the store.” Gabe insisted, setting the drink on the table in front of them. “And I’m getting every drug I can find. Anything to keep you from hacking up a lung on my coffee table.”

Jack chuckled hoarsely, wiping the spittle from the corner of his mouth as he caught his breath. The fit exacerbated his headache; perhaps he’d be a fool not to appreciate the moment of quiet and solitude he’d be granted if Gabe left for a minute.

“Suit yourself.” He finally muttered as he lay back down. “I’ll try not to die before you get back.”

_ “That _ would most definitely ruin my plans of making sure you owe me one for playing nurse on my weekend off, so you better fucking not.” Gabe countered as he grabbed his jacket.

Jack snickered again. “There’s that ulterior motive I was waiting for.” He mumbled.

Gabe smirked playfully. “No such thing as a free lunch, Sunshine. I’ll be back. I’ll get some soup or something, too.”

Jack grunted in acknowledgment, shutting his eyes again when he heard the apartment door click shut behind him. The silence washed over him like an ocean wave in the summertime. Slowly, he began to relax, his senses drawing inward until his only awareness was of the aching in his head and chest...

\--

Living downtown had its perks. It took three different shops, but only 45 minutes to make the trip to each of them, assemble (in his not-so-humble opinion) the perfect sick kit, and walk back to his apartment. Even including the lengthy and broken conversation he had with a tired young pharmacist whose English was about as good as Gabe's German. He ended up calling Angela to speed things along.

But, as promised, he returned prepared to weather even the worst of bacterial storms, stocking up on groceries and home goods with the same zealous intensity he prepared for war.

This  _ was  _ war. A war against the flu that attacked his best friend. Just because he can't see the enemy or pronounce its name doesn't mean he can't kick its ass.

_ “I'm fucking soaked!” _ He snapped the moment he stepped inside, swinging the door shut behind him with his foot. He kicked off his shoes with a frustrated huff and stomped to the kitchen to free his arms of grocery bags, then tossed his jacket on the floor. “I get all the way back to my block and the whole goddamn sky just opens up and rains right on me. Stupid fucking Europe and it’s stupid fucking rain. We don’t have this shit in California.”

“I pulled a total fucking dad brain at the pharmacy and had to call Angie, too.” He continued as he put things away, leaving out bottles of medicine and boxes of tissues on the counter. “She was a good sport about it, thank fuck. I know you hate her right now but we really don't pay her enough.”

He smirked. “Maybe I'll send her a fruit basket.” He suggested playfully. “In your name, of course. She'd never hear the end of it from O’Deorain. God, that'd be funny.”

When even that provoked no response, Gabe eyed the back of the couch with an inquisitive frown. Scooping up the tissues and meds, he crossed the room.

“Jack?” He called again, pausing when he spied the motionless figure bundled up on the couch.

The slow and steady rise and fall of Jack's chest was perceptible even under the mountain of blankets he buried himself beneath. A whisper-soft snore sighed from his nostrils on each exhale. The thoughtful scowl for which the strike commander was famous had been smoothed away by sleep, leaving him looking serene and nearly ten years younger. 

The vision knocked the wind out of Gabe. He stared without guilt or pretense, awestruck by the rare sight of his friend, relaxed. It broke his heart upon slowly realizing he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen him like this. Overwatch took so much out of him. His job was unforgiving in ways that so often felt cruel to be inflicted on such a gentle person. Maybe the world needed him but it sure as hell didn’t deserve him.

Silently, he laid out his gifts to Jack on the coffee table, ensuring they'd be the first thing he’d see upon waking. He tiptoed to the kitchen and snuck a beer from the fridge before retreating soundlessly to the bathroom, waiting until he shut the door to pop the cap off and, after a moment of staring at the bottle, sucking down half its contents.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and frowned at the flush of his cheeks, reaching up to touch the warm skin to confirm the sight. Jack was hardly an ugly guy but it never ceased to amaze him how even after all these years, Jack's stupid boy-next-door good looks could still manage to take Gabriel's breath away.

“Don't.” He growled at his reflection, waving his bottle and a warning finger at the infatuated moron staring back at him. “Don't you dare start with that gay shit. Not now. He’s sick and his boyfriend just left him, for fuck’s sake.”

But it was too late and they both knew it. You can't be back on your bullshit if you were never off it to begin with.

Scowling, he finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle in the garbage can. It made a louder noise than he'd hoped, so he scowled at the garbage can as well, squinting to concentrate his anger enough that the bottle would still feel it through it.

He gritted his teeth and huffed an annoyed sigh.

“I need a fucking shower.” He muttered and began to undress.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe makes drinks. He and Jack talk. Feelings are discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW REMEMBER ME? I'm sorry you guys keep having to wait for updates. I swear I'm going to finish this fic. Maybe in one more part? Maybe two? We'll see. But we're getting to the end.
> 
> I'm sorryyyyyy ;___; I'll never do multi-chapter fics again. You guys deserve better.

Jack spent the afternoon in a fitful sleep. Gabriel occupied himself quietly on a nearby chair, content to let his friend rest but reluctant not to be nearby when he finally did stir. He let a soccer match play muted on his TV and scrolled through emails and other nonsense tasks on a holotablet, his bare feet on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles.

It was the sight of Gabriel scowling at one such email that Jack saw first upon waking.

His eyes opened before he really realized he was awake, blinking slowly at the sudden invasion of light from the television and a distant, cloudy sunset just outside his field of vision. His body was stiff and numb. His throat burned like a hot rake had been dragged across it. And he had to sneeze.

He'd hoped to sit up and grab a tissue first but his sickness was faster. A fit of sneezes burst from him hard enough to pull his body upright and loud enough to send a very startled Gabriel halfway up the back of his chair.

_**"Jesus!”**_ He hissed as he slid back onto the cushion once Jack's violent sneezing and coughing calmed down. He scooped his tablet off the floor. "Evening, asshole."

Jack dropped back to his side, buried his face into the blanket, and groaned.

"I'm _fine,_ thanks for asking." Gabe added irritably, though his eyes sparkled with mischievous amusement. "You only scared me _half to death._ How are you feeling?"

"It's official." Jack moaned through the layers of fabric. "This is the end. Just take me out back and shoot me now. I'm as good as dead."

"You should be so lucky." Gabe tutted and got to his feet. "Drink that water. I'll make you a Hot Tommy or whatever."

Jack croaked a weak laugh as he sat up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders before reaching for the water. "Toddy." He corrected. "A Hot Toddy."

Gabe offered an exaggerated shrug, which made Jack snicker again as his friend disappeared to the kitchen.

"Although I don't think I'd mind a Hot Tommy if you found one of those at the pharmacy, too." He teased.

Gabe stopped mid-step on his trek to the cupboards and glanced over his shoulder. Jack was not above toilet or sex humor (he was only human, after all), but he was a notoriously reserved guy. The comment, while admittedly hilarious, seemed out-of-character, especially from a monogamous man with a broken heart.

He watched Jack's shoulders slump after a pause, then sigh and sit back.

"That didn't feel as good to say as I was hoping it would." He mumbled.

Gabe hesitated, trying to think of something to say, then got to work assembling ingredients for drinks.

"You uh... had a chance to talk to anyone about it yet?" He asked uncomfortably as he fussed about.

Jack lowered his eyes. He drank from his water once more before setting it down and grabbing a bag of cough drops Gabriel left out for him. Honey and lemon. His favorite.

"No." He answered as he popped a lozenge into his mouth. "Just you and Ana on the phone. That day."

"You wanna talk about it now?"

Another pause. Jack stacked up the pillows into a column he could lean against.

"Yeah." He said. "But I don't know what to say yet."

Gabe nodded and continued to silently busy himself in the kitchen. Truthfully, he’d been in the same boat. Everyone had their eggs in the Jack and Vincent basket. Of all the couples, their obvious—and frankly gross at times—love for each other seemed the most stable and enduring. Who would have thought that Ingrid and _Torbjörn_ would be the relationship that actually lasted?

No one knew what to say when they found out Jack and Vincent ended. It was like someone had died. It felt like Overwatch’s parents were getting divorced. Like they’d all done everything right and still got the bad ending. Fareeha had been so inconsolable that it would have been funny had it not been exactly how everyone else felt, too.

"God, it's been _six weeks,_ Gabe." Jack said suddenly, turning to look in the kitchen at his friend. "But it still feels like it just happened. It feels like it's _still_ happening. I feel like I just left the apartment today--"

A coughing fit cut him short. He turned to sit forward again and doubled over, growling from agonized frustration when it ended. Then, he sighed deeply and sat back up, drinking more water and swallowing some ibuprofen alongside it.

"When does it finally feel _over?"_ He asked Gabe finally. "When do you start being single again?"

Gabe snorted as he sliced a lemon at the counter. "Yeah, Gabe, you've had a long-term relationship blow up in your face before..."

Jack whipped back around to face Gabriel, eyes huge with terror.

_"Jesus,_ Gabe, I didn't mean it like--"

"I know." Gabe replied quickly. "I just… suck at this. But, fuck, I dunno. I didn't really have that problem. I'm happy to be divorced. I don't hate my ex, I'm just happier without her and I know she is, too. It was a clean break. _No problemo."_

He glanced at Jack and shriveled somewhat over the hopeless look in his friend's eyes. The water boiled and Gabe assembled two drinks, bringing the mugs over and setting one on the table for Jack before taking his to his chair with him. He sank into the soft cushion and sighed.

"I guess it felt shitty at first, though." He admitted sullenly. "I felt like a loser. Like, how did I manage to fail at being in love? Then I end up second banana to you at Overwatch, which could destroy _anyone's_ self-esteem."

"Not funny." Jack warned with a scowl. "You know I was willing to go to bat for you. I didn't even _want_ this job--"

"I know, I know." Gabe dismissed with a wave. "Fuck, lighten up, Jack, it was a joke. What is this, an audience or a mausoleum?"

"I repeat: Not funny."

"Alright, I'm sorry." Gabe grunted. "My point is that, yeah, during the divorce I felt like a grade-A fuck-up. My marriage falling apart felt so… personal. I’m a _soldier._ I’ve lived through _war_ but I couldn’t survive a goddamn marriage? Who’s like that? What kind of idiot can shoot guns at people without blinking but has to get drunk and cry in the shower before signing his divorce papers?”

Jack sat forward, leaning on his friend's words. "You never told me this before. You know you're not a fuck-up, right?"

_"Obviously."_ Gabe droned with a roll of his eyes. "I'm a goddamn delight."

Jack rolled his eyes back.

"Getting back to that point I'm still driving at," Gabe continued forcefully, "I guess... it takes a while for it to get normal. I don’t know when it happened for me. At first, I’d come home to this big, empty apartment, and all I could think about was how big and empty it was. Then, one day, I didn’t notice how big and empty the apartment was when I came home. I started thinking things like, ‘fuck I really should vaccuum,’ or ‘maybe I’ll make fajitas for dinner’.”

“It did happen, though.” Gabe assured Jack. “Sooner or later. Maybe later for you, since you’re a giant, sentimental pussy.”

Jack shot Gabe an unamused look. “Jee, thanks.” He sneered.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Just that you definitely are.”

Jack continued to glare at his friend, then finally finished his glass of water and started work on his hot toddy, thin lips stretching into a sly smile.

“You had to get drunk and cry in the shower to sign your divorce papers?”

“First of all, go fuck yourself.”

Jack howled with laughter until another coughing fit forced him to stop.


End file.
